Of Lady Luck and Mr Brandon
by scribblegrl
Summary: His friends always said Charles Brandon led a charmed life, but his luck might be put to the test when he falls for King Henry's clever younger sister Mary.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So! I'm a longtime writer, but new to this site, and this is my first go at anything like Tudors fic. I'm going with Mary Tudor for Henry VIII's sister, but true history buffs should be forewarned that several elements here will be quite extravagantly AU. This story was originally inspired by an amusing bit of research I read about the historical Charles Brandon - that he was considered by many to be the best jouster in England, and may have used his considerable skills to ensure that Henry did well in tournaments.

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 **Westminster**  
1511

Charles spent the last day before the tournament at the archery field getting in a final practice. Over the past week, the palace had been enveloped in a whirling bustle of noise and fuss in anticipation of the festivities to come. Courtiers and staff alike all seemed caught up in the minutiae of preparations and gossip amid the endless arrival of guests, but it was blessedly quiet down here. In the waning sun of the late afternoon there was just Charles with his bow, shadowed by a few young pages and stable boys who'd crept away from their duties to watch him shoot.

Will Compton sometimes joked that Charles was followed by an ever present flock of sparrows, but Charles didn't mind them watching so long as they kept quiet and out of the way. After all, he had done the same at that age, slipping away as often as he could manage to study the great knights of Henry VII's court, clashing in the tilt yard and mastering arms. Of all the opportunities Charles had been afforded in being raised at court as a royal companion to the Tudor children, it was access to the practice yards that had turned out to be his most valuable education. He may have been an indifferent student when the subject was rhetoric or Latin, but no one—not even fair Prince Harry—could keep up with Charles Brandon at sport.

The clatter of an arriving horse broke the peace that had been previously punctuated only by the whistling flight of arrows and the pleasing thunk of a hit.

"What brings you out here?" Charles asked with amusement, turning to watch Will dismount and hand off his horse to one of the pages. As a general rule, Will had no patience for shooting at any targets that weren't already running away.

"Looking for you, what else?" Will said, brushing road dust from his doublet. He sounded mildly aggrieved, but softened it with a smile as he approached. " _He_ wants us all back for supper."

Was it that late already? Charles studied the horizon, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand. It was easy to lose track of time out here. "All right, I'll come with you," he agreed, "just one more shot."

"By all means, keep him waiting," Will smirked, peeling off his gloves.

"He won't mind when I tell him what a perfect day it's been," Charles replied, raising his bow and taking careful aim at the target down field. "I think he'd rather have me beat Geoffrey D'Arby tomorrow than be on time for supper tonight."

"I'm sure you're right," Will muttered, crossing his arms over his chest as he stepped back to watch.

Charles loosed his shot and watched with satisfaction as the arrow found its mark. Instead of sounding pleased for him though, Will let out a loud, annoyed huff, and Charles looked back over at him curiously.

"Have I done something wrong?"

"I swear by all that's holy, Charles, if I didn't love you so much I should have to despise you. He's ordered a tennis exhibition!" Will blew out another exasperated breath. "And naturally he wants you for his side."

"That's hardly my fault," Charles protested, setting down his bow and signaling for one of the boys to start gathering up spent arrows.

"Well it can't very well be the King's fault, now can it? That only leaves you," Will said, throwing up his hands. "He always picks you, and Tony and I are left to be nothing but fools and foils in front of the whole court."

Ah, so that's what this was about. Charles laughed.

"You're not fools and foils, Will, you're the spirited opposition that ensures a thrilling match," Charles corrected. "It's a very important role. In fact, there are some rather powerful men I can think of who would be quite happy to lose to the King at tennis if it meant they got to play at all."

"I suppose," Will conceded after a moment. Then his face brightened with a mischievous smile. "Lord knows Buckingham is probably shaking his fist at all of us as we speak."

"I don't imagine he'll _ever_ be invited to tennis," Charles said, giving Will's shoulder a playful shove.

Will shot him a sidelong glance in return. "You couldn't care less for politics, perhaps that's the real reason why Henry always picks you."

"He always picks me because he likes to win," Charles laughed. "Perhaps if you and Tony spent more time practicing and less time maneuvering, he would choose you instead."

"Ah," Will dismissed, waving his hand as they left the field, "practicing is for squires and stable boys."

And orphans, of course. But Charles decided he would keep that thought to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to all of you who have read and welcomed my little tale! I very much appreciate the feedback. This story opens in 1511, approximately two years into Henry's reign. For my purposes here, I'm making Charles and Henry the same age. The character of Geoffrey D'Arby is a fictional plot convenience, so don't bother looking for him in any history. :)

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Everyone always knew who was eating supper with the King.

While dinner was generally open to all present at court, and run more or less according to protocol, Henry's suppers were more intimate affairs taken in his private chambers. If he were especially tired, it might just be himself and Katherine eating alone, but he often invited a small number of companions. Courtiers angling for favor would sometimes loiter shamelessly wherever the King was spending the afternoon, in case an invitation might be casually offered. _Hoping to get swept up in the net_ , as Will tartly observed. But it very rarely worked.

Private or no, with the sheer number of people in some form of service at court talking and exchanging gossip, the identities of those who kept closer company with Henry were well known. And the fact that aside from the Queen most of these confidantes lacked formal titles or position, seemed to drive certain members of the nobility to near madness.

 _New men_ was what Buckingham sneeringly called them—and not quietly, either. He seemed to find it an affront to his own prestige to be passed over, not even for an actual rival like Norfolk, but for a bunch of nobodies! It was bad enough the King was only twenty years old, Buckingham would repeat to anyone who would listen, but far worse that he surrounded himself with these young idiots who had no lineage, no history, and no standing.

Charles, Will, and Tony Knivert had heard it all, and laughed about his grumblings for the most part. It was always preferable, after all, to have the King on your side when a Duke was against you. But the overall tension in the atmosphere had risen palpably as Henry continued to settle more fully into his reign, and some powerful old families like the Staffords found themselves increasingly on the outs.

Sometimes Will and Tony fretted over the question of their place in Henry's new order, and when and how they might be elevated.

"He just hasn't gotten around to it yet," Tony would assure Will, perhaps a touch too heartily. "He's had so much to deal with. It'll come." And Will would nod in agreement, sigh, and down another ale.

Charles didn't really worry about it. Henry had his loyalty and friendship freely. Forever, and no matter what _._ Charles owed Henry everything. He always had. Ever since they were children, Henry had cleared a place at his table for Charles and defended his right to be there against anyone who questioned it. And Charles already had good rooms, an excellent horse, fine armor, and the steadfast love of the King of England. He hadn't needed a title for any of that.

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When Charles and Will were announced in Henry's chambers for supper, the meal had already begun. Will poked Charles with a sharp elbow and raised his eyebrows as though to say: _I told you we'd be late_.

Charles shrugged. No matter what Will said, he was certain taking a few extra moments to clean up in his own rooms first had been the correct thing to do. Charles may not have been a nobleman, but he was _not_ about to attend supper with Katherine of Aragon wearing muddy boots fresh from the archery fields.

"Charles!" Henry boomed, looking up from his conversation with Tony as they entered the room. "How was the shooting?"

Charles slid a wry glance in Will's direction: _I told you he wouldn't care._

"It went very well, your majesty," Charles replied, pausing in front of Katherine to formally bow and kiss her hand.

Katherine accepted his murmured greeting with her usual expression of gentle bemusement. Charles knew she found him frivolous for the most part, but that really wasn't so bad. If she'd thought him ambitious, she probably would have disapproved of his friendship with Henry more strenuously. But as things stood, she seemed to regard Charles with the kind of grudging tolerance she might show an occasionally charming but sometimes naughty dog.

A lot of it depended on her mood, and she seemed to be in a good one tonight. Although she had argued against Henry's desire to hold the tournament in the first place, in the last few days, Katherine seemed buoyed by the opportunity to play hostess now that it was all actually unfolding.

"Good!" Henry said, waving Charles and Will to their seats. Servants rushed in to bring plates and goblets. "That D'Arby has been so odious lately. He never stops talking." Henry leaned in across the table and pointed a half-eaten pheasant leg in Charles's direction. "I should very much enjoy seeing him beaten tomorrow."

"Charles can take him," Tony joined in with a nod and a laugh, "which is more than I can say for myself."

Tony was a fine archer in his own right and usually acquitted himself well in contests, but he lacked the deeply competitive streak ingrained in Charles or Henry, and rarely won them outright. And Henry, although quite good with a bow on a hunt, was more like Will in that he seemed to require the thrill of a chase to hold his attention. Having little interest in entering competitions he couldn't win, Henry relied upon Charles to put in a good showing under his colors.

"I shall do my very best," Charles promised, raising his glass in acknowledgement.

"I hope Mary will arrive in time to see it all," Henry continued, tucking back into his meal. "We had a messenger saying her carriage had been delayed on bad roads and she'd been forced to put up at Pemberly for the night."

"Is Mary coming?" Will asked in a tone of mild surprise. He prided himself on being appraised of all the latest news.

Charles was surprised too. Henry's younger sister hadn't been seen at court for nearly a year and a half.

"She wrote when she found out about the tournament," Henry nodded with a fond smile. "You know she couldn't bear to miss the excitement."

"She used to be the entirety of our audience," Charles recalled, thinking on the mock tournaments he and Henry had held as twelve year old boys, much to the delight of little seven year old Mary who would clap and cheer their antics loudly from the 'stands'.

"Indeed she was." Henry sounded wistful.

"She hasn't been imprisoned," Katherine said a bit archly, raising her glass for a sip of wine.

The issue of what to do with Mary had been one of some debate between Henry and Katherine, the details of which Charles only knew obliquely.

During the first few months after Henry VII's death, there had been so many things to sort out that it seemed no one was quite keeping track of the girl. It was only after some loud altercation with a kitchen maid that everyone remembered there was a headstrong thirteen year old royal princess running about, virtually unsupervised.

Katherine had stepped in at that point and packed Mary off with a small household in the hopes of restoring some order to her life, but she seemed to fear the damage had already been done. Mary had been betrothed to Katherine's nephew, Charles of Castille, while Henry VII was still on the throne. Maintaining that Spanish alliance was of utmost importance to Katherine, but Mary...

How would she ever be tractable after having known such freedoms? She'd been spoiled from the very beginning, as Katherine saw it, the youngest, the prettiest, the pet. (Of course this was all Katherine's view as reported to Charles by Henry in mid-complaint.)

For his own part, Henry thought Katherine was overreacting. Young as she was, Mary was a royal princess born and bred. She was perfectly aware of and capable of performing her duties as required when the time came. What harm could there possibly be in letting her enjoy her time at court with her beloved brother? There were only the two of them left, after all, with Margaret a cool and distant figure off in Scotland, and Arthur and the rest of their family gone...

In the end, Katherine won the argument by default while Henry was otherwise occupied with matters of state, and Mary had indeed been sent off. It was still a bit of a sore point between them, though, and Charles had no desire to stir the pot. He decided to steer the conversation back toward safer topics.

"Will tells me we may have a tennis match tomorrow afternoon?"

Henry, who had already opened his mouth to answer Katherine was, as hoped, distracted by the question. "Yes!" He veered back in Charles's direction, "I thought it might be a bit of fun to give some of our foreign guests a little demonstration _,_ hm?"

It would be good for those in attendance to see for themselves how strong and vigorous England's King truly was, and to bring that news back home with them to their own aging and crippled rulers. Henry wasn't just strong, but agile, and quick-witted. Tennis showed off both his form and abilities to great advantage, and Charles would make sure Henry looked his absolute best.

"That sounds like an excellent plan," Charles agreed, and Henry bashed their goblets together in an enthusiastic toast, sloshing wine onto the table.

"Looks like all bets will be against us again, my friend." Will pretended to weep as he mournfully tapped his wine against Tony's.

"We know the ladies' money will all be on Charles anyway," Katherine said, with what looked, surprisingly enough, like a small smile.

Ridiculously, Charles found himself fighting a flush as all at the table laughed. He could hardly remember Katherine ever teasing him before—and certainly not about _that_.

"If only they knew what a bore he was," Tony sighed, tossing a hunk of bread in Charles's direction.

"And a simpleton as well!" Will added brightly.

"As opposed to the sophisticated conversation to be had with you lot," Charles replied finally, firing the bread back at Tony.

Henry beamed at them all and called for the next course. Tomorrow promised to be a most auspicious day.

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End file.
